


The Tamrielic Incursion: A Crossover AU Fanfic and Science Fantasy Love Story

by The_Amateur_Scholar



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 3
Genre: AU, Apocalypse, Crossover, Crossover Pairings, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Gore, Het, Implied Sexual Content, Loads and Loads of Characters - Freeform, Not Canon Compliant, Romance, Sarcasm, Science Fiction & Fantasy, Trope Overdosed, Violence, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-15
Updated: 2015-04-15
Packaged: 2018-03-23 03:51:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3753430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Amateur_Scholar/pseuds/The_Amateur_Scholar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the Capital Wasteland, a young man is thrust out of his home at the age of 19, and struggles to survive the Wasteland beyond while searching for his lost father.<br/>In Skyrim, a young lady is almost wrongfully executed before a dragon conveniently interrupts it, leading her on a journey to stop a civil war and prevent the end of the world.<br/>These two strangers from different worlds will find themselves thrust into a new world order, and must work together in order to figure out what is happening.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Tamrielic Incursion: A Crossover AU Fanfic and Science Fantasy Love Story

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so this is my first fanfic ever, so yes I know it's pretty much guaranteed that there's gonna be lots of factual and grammatical errors.  
> I'm not going to be very faithful to the original games, but I encourage those who read this to try and view this as a story on its own. I'm changing lots of stuff, but will try to keep the original spirit of the games here.  
> As a warning, I've got a very busy schedule right now, so I can't promise when I can release new chapters. So please, bear with me.  
> I will happily accept constructive criticism!

Markus stopped, heaving for breath, tears drying on his face.

  
He was standing outside the doors of his home, his childhood - all of which had gone spectacularly to hell in less than a day. The guards had tried to kill him, and his father had disappeared to the Wasteland. They’d killed his dad’s best friend Jonas, a man who cared for him like he was his son. His best friend, Amata, had shoved him away, screaming him to run before her father found him and had him executed before the whole Vault. He’d...killed someone. A guard, who’d gotten in the way. It wasn’t his fault, right? The gun was in his hand, and it was like some nightmarish reflex had just taken over. He hadn’t meant to, really!

  
...Right?

  
He shook the thoughts away, trying to remember what he had to do, turning to primitive survival instinct for assistance. Look for safety, his brain ordered him. Stay alive. Find Dad. Simple orders, with hard solutions. And now he was lost, somewhere out in the Wasteland. Hell on Earth. He looked around, trying to get his bearings.

  
Living in fluorescent light for his entire life, Markus had to squint for a minute for his eyes to adjust to the brightness. His eyes widened as the land opened up before him.  
He was standing just outside of a cave, an old road sign stuck determinedly in the dirt beside him, cheerfully stating SCENIC OVERLOOK! in nice big letters. The small ledge broke down on its right side, becoming a gradual slope leading to the remains of a road. In the distance, he saw the road cut right through a bunch of buildings and an old gas station, before branching off into two directions. One way went past a large, three-storied shell of a building, before disappearing beneath a shattered overpass. The other way went uphill, right by what looked like a massive iron castle with a steel dome, wings of airplanes sticking out. Large dead trees and various bits of trash dotted the landscape.

Markus looked around, searching for predators. Quickly, he sprinted down the road, looking around the buildings for supplies. There wasn’t much, more opportune scavengers having picked them apart far earlier than him. He rummaged through a mailbox held together with impressive rivets and prayers, looking for anything useful. He grinned, taking out something that definitely didn’t belong: A large First Aid Kit, various little things rattling within. Holding out a leather bag he’d snagged from the Vault before his timely escape, he shoved everything inside, hoping all the times his dad had forced him to watch him with his patients would finally pay off. Next, he saw ammunition, something he’d clearly need for the future. Thankfully, it was 10mm, just the caliber for the pistol that hung at his side. Finally, a large combat knife with cruel curves lay at the bottom, which would serve him far better than the baton he’d fished off a guard.

Markus felt proud of his incredible luck before frowning. That was **way** too convenient, all of that survival equipment right out in the open. He carefully looked around, searching for a possible owner. He held the pistol reflexively in front of him, but his hands were shaking so much it was better used as a security blanket.

Silence bounded throughout the Wasteland.

Just as he was about to sigh in relief, a loud buzzing filled the air, like a giant angry wasp. Markus dived into the nearest convenient pile of rubble, covering himself as much as possible with crushed brick and dusty mortar to resemble just another part of the post-apocalyptic landscape. Two men walked over to the mailbox, both of them looking like rejects to a Mad Max casting call. Their hair was wild, matching the patchwork scars covering them from head to toe. Their armor was entirely impractical but scary as hell, made up of metal shards, leather scraps, and scavenged fabric that _just_ skirted away from indecency. They wore huge combat boots, with one having a bandoleer of shotgun shells over his chest and a large, jet-black shotgun prepared for combat resting in his hands. The other fidgeted with several asthma inhalers painted neon-orange, and in an exercise in opposites had a clean, deadly-looking short sword resting on his belt. The blade had 3 stars ascending toward the tip etched into it, with Chinese lettering and designs adorning the hilt. What made the two truly unsettling was their eyes; scar tissue lined them like veteran fighting dogs and they seemed slightly distant, like they were looking at something completely different than Markus.

Markus held his breath. He had no illusions what they would do if they found him there. The two men stopped by, staring at the ransacked mailbox in confusion. This confusion quickly morphed into rage.

“What the fuck, man!?” Shotgun Guy yelled, kicking the remains of the mailbox over. “Where’s our shit!?”

Shotgun Guy stared at Chinese Sword Guy expectantly, who grabbed his blade and placed directly under Shotgun Guy’s neck. “I. Don’t. Fucking. Know”, he snarled, lightly prodding Shotgun Guy with the sword on each syllable. “Don’t fucking blame me. Your fault that Yao Guai came after us.”

Shotgun Guy roughly pushed the sword away. His hand came back red with blood, which he started to suck on. Markus made a face of disgust. _That_ was pleasant. Shotgun Guy seemed distracted with drinking his own blood, and Chinese Sword Guy seemed to abruptly forget his own half of the conversation, now prodding the stones around the mailbox out of curiosity. The loud buzzing noise seemed to be getting even louder, and both of them seemed to be quite determined to keep cheerfully ignoring it. Markus squirmed anxiously, worried what was going to happen next.

Chinese Sword Guy’s eyes twitched, staring down directly at Markus, who lacked the time to scream. Markus’ vision became a blur, finding himself hoisted up, held by his neck by a grinning Chinese Sword Guy. “We’ve gotta new friend!” he yelled in a sing-song tone to Shotgun Guy. Shotgun Guy turned in place, and broke into a wide smile, like a kid in a candy store. “Oh boy!” Shotgun Guy cheered. “I get to slice him open first!” Chinese Sword Guy frowned. “Hey, you did that first last time. _I_ get to do it first this time.” Shotgun Guy rolled his eyes in annoyance, before grinning cruelly and pointing his shotgun straight in Markus’ face. “Let’s pop open his head and see what’s inside. Maybe we can sell the rest to Andale.” Markus contemplated on how everything had seemed to have been going _so_ well for the past five seconds, but then everything changed. And somehow, it got even **weirder**.

The loud buzzing noise now reached an ear-bleeding level. Shotgun Guy snarled impatiently and turned around, just in time for a laser bolt to him in the stomach. Shotgun Guy went down screaming, a horrible massive burn on his stomach like an angry giant decided to punish him with his cigarette.

Distantly, Markus heard a cheerfully calm voice in a thick Virginian accent speak. “What,” the voice intoned, “is the purpose of government? Tell me, my sweet America, what do you think?”

Chinese Sword Guy dropped Markus in shock, before running to Shotgun Guy’s side, trying to pull the shotgun away from his bleeding fingers. Two more laser bolts hit Shotgun Guy, one in the left knee and the other right on his face, and Shotgun Guy stopped screaming.

Markus scrambled to his feet, staring at his savior. It was a small robot, about the size of a soccer ball but with the shape of an eyeball, with several long radio antenna reaching out from the back and top. The front of the robot consisted of a large speaker, with a small laser cannon located underneath, swiveling around and still glowing a faint red. It cheerfully bobbed in the air, the source of the buzzing being a medium-sized propeller in the back. The voice was much louder now, and Markus realized that the robot was its source.

“Why,” the robot continued, “the purpose of government is to serve and protect the people!” Chinese Sword Guy took this chance to run like hell, pushing Markus in the way of the robot while grabbing Markus’ bag full of supplies.

In a split second, Markus turned and tackled Chinese Sword Guy. Both of them clawed at each other, while the robot happily waited for a victor, floating politely out of range.

“Give me back my stuff!” Markus yelled.

“It’s mine, you little shit!” Chinese Sword Guy screeched. “Get the fuck off-” Chinese Sword Guy found himself cut off, as would many other people when they realize they have a sword buried in their stomach. He made several gurgling motions, trying to reach for Markus’ neck, but then collapsed backward and became still.

Markus had had qualms when he’d killed an innocent guard by accident when escaping for his life. He had had no qualms when killing an insane psychotic murderer who’d just tried to throw him under the bus.

Markus dusted himself off, picking up the shotgun and cleaned off the sword. He looked around, seeing the robot had hightailed it. He snorted in faked derision, trying to cover up his approaching fear. He put the sword in its hilt, which had tied to Chinese Sword Guy's leg, oddly enough. Markus was starting to get the idea that these people weren't exactly technicians from RobCo.

After attaching the hilt to his own belt, he then holstered the combat shotgun with Shotgun Guy’s old belt. Hoisting the bag of supplies over one arm, he started down the road, walking toward the iron castle, hoping for a nicer entrance.


End file.
